Chapter Text
Awareness crept in slowly, awareness, but not recognition. It was disorienting, not knowing where one was, how long one had been asleep, or... anything. The past was a blank, the present a mystery. There was an attempt to stir, but the body did not budge. Hands, eyes, breathing? Air entered lungs, air exited lungs, and the only thing that changed that rhythm was the rising panic of waking up paralyzed and confused.
Move. Move. Move! Breath quickened to haggard pants, and despite every effort made, no voluntary control could be mustered to slow it down. There was no sense of time as fear overwhelmed the senses, attempt after attempt made at the simplest movement with no results. It wasn’t until the haggard breathing began to slow, the mind finally losing energy for such rampant panic, that the senses present were noted.
Though nothing moved, every portion of the body seemed to have sensation. Feet were tucked forward, what must have been a blanket was tucked tightly on all sides of the body, coming to a reasonable end a little below the neck. The immobile body was laying on a soft surface, the head propped up on an even softer sensation. It all added up to lying on one’s back while tucked into a bed, right? Without movement, it was difficult to test, but the simple likelihood was reasonable enough.
There was a hum in the room. It clicked off, and clicked back on again in varied increments. There was a distant honk of a horn. Birds chirped. Vague muffled street noises could be heard with some strain.
There was sensation, there was hearing. There was a sterile smell, but definitely a smell. It was difficult to ascertain taste. Was it night or day? There was too much noise on the street for night, but there was no brightness behind the motionless eyelids to indicate day.
Please move. Please, please move.
After far too long, voices could be heard, muffled, but loud enough to capture words. "Do you think it's awake?"
"Most likely."
It? The word settled into the mind with deep, desperate curiosity. There was the sound of a door opening, and the voices grew loud and crisp alongside the footsteps that accompanied them.
"Why wipe its memory? If it can't move or express, if it can't do anything. Why does it need to be a blank slate?"
Why were they using that word? They were clearly talking about a person. No, they were talking about what was actively being experienced at that moment. The memory loss. The paralysis. The subject of the conversation was obvious, and that was terrifying.
"It does respond to stimuli, even if not voluntarily, and the wipe enhances that - ah, it must be awake, the breathing is rapid."
The blanket was pulled back, and bare skin was met with cold air. ‘It’ was clearly naked. There was deep embarrassment. ‘It had been internalized immediately. The mind, free of memory, was unable to offer rebuttal. The word had suddenly grown so absolute in the mind that there was simply no acceptable alternative. And why was it naked? There were at least two men in the room staring at its exposed form, and there was not a single thing that could be done about it. A hand seemed to pointedly land on the groin, rubbing up and down 'its' cock, and its humiliation only grew tenfold, its breath quickening in panic at its helplessness.
"I know this will sound strange, but it's a mercy. It's easier to accept and enjoy things when it doesn't remember any sort of history. This, probably fear, will subside, and the blank slate that remains will then be filled with its new purpose."
Purpose? What purpose? Why couldn't it move? How did that help anything at all? The mysterious hand moved away from its unresponsive anatomy. "If it just woke up, and it’s still in a panic, it'll probably be a bit before it can be aroused naturally. It's fine, so long as it responds to Phase 2 Restructuring. Just check ‘other,’ and write in ‘emotional distress suspected’ and move on." The sensation of pressure on its eyelid was a shock, even if its body didn’t startle. The left lid seemed to be pried open, but there was no change in light. Same for the right. "Irises look good. Pupils are properly sealed."
Sealed?
"We usually don't blind them."
Blind?
"This was a special request."
Who's request? Why was it here? What was going on? The desire to scream and cry was overwhelming, but the body remained still and silent, incapable of expressing the dread that grew by the minute.
The interaction went on just as clinical and cold as it had started, as if the body they poked and prodded at wasn't awake and listening. It didn't know what was more dehumanizing, being examined with no regard for personhood, or the fact that its mind simply accepted being referred to as 'it' with no memory or sense of self to rebuttal being referred to as an object.
All the while thoughts spiraled. It couldn't move a single muscle in its body, and was somehow blind by special request. If only it could ask what was going on. The mind slammed against the uselessness of the body, begging itself to somehow overcome the immobility. A twitch of the finger, a tilt of the head, a twitch of the brow, anything at all would be better than this crushing helplessness.
The inability to cry was devastating. Internally it was screaming, but its body remained inert, only the involuntary panting of pure panic betraying any feeling at all. What could it have possibly done to deserve this - whatever this was? With no memory and no way to speak there were simply no answers to be found.
A knock pulled its mind from its panic, and the door creaked as if opening, "Oh, it's here. Perfect, we just completed the final wave of tests."
Footsteps, rustling, pain. A sharp sting penetrated its arm, holding for several seconds until the source of pain was removed. Pressure was applied to the spot for a good while more. Warmth seemed to spread within its veins, melting from its arm to its chest, then through its entire body. The warmth lingered, settling into its skin, creating an intense increase in sensation. Something brushed its arm, its chest, its neck. This time it wasn't panic that quickened its breath. Desire grew with every touch, every tease. Mortifyingly, it found itself aching to grind its hips, to touch itself, but its body remained motionless.
The strange hands continued to explore, the paralyzed form trapped in inert frustration. Finally a hand brushed its hardened cock, offering light teasing at first, then growing more purposeful. Lust raked through it as its erection was gripped, intentional motions driving it closer and closer to the edge.
Voices were heard speaking, but it was so engulfed in its need for pleasure that the meanings behind the words were difficult to parse. Its entire body was on fire with need. Mere hands were far from enough to satisfy, even to its begging cock. The hand pumped as the conversation went on around it. Its need rose and rose, seemingly to impossible heights, yet the ministrations of these handsy strangers didn’t seem to be enough. The sound of soft whimpers filled the room, and it realized with both amazement and horror that it was its own voice it was hearing, whimpering and moaning despite the complete lack of control it had over its body. The voice belonged to it, but it didn't command it, which meant that there was no stopping the lewd and humiliating noises that escaped its lips. It whined in arousal and frustration, desperate for an orgasm that simply wasn't coming. It wasn't sure how long things went on like this, lost in a spiral of desperate need. It just knew that no matter how hard the disembodied hands pumped its needy cock, no matter how they teased its nipples or brushed fingertips pleasurably along its neck and body, satisfaction never came.
When the disembodied hands ceased, the blanket replaced, and the voices faded from the room, it found itself trapped in its immobilized form, unable to seek out the stimulation it so desperately craved, and humiliated by violation so intense that it was still ready to beg for it. In so many ways, its body was no longer its own. Eventually, mercifully, the intense arousal faded into a constant, but less desperate need, and it was able to fall into a fitful, horny sleep.
---
After an unknown number of hours, voices were heard once more, rousing it from the light slumber it had managed to fall into. It felt the obvious sensations and sounds of being moved about a large building until it met with the sensation of open air. It was lifted into something before it heard several doors slam, shutting out the fresh air. The rumble of an engine was obvious once the vehicle started moving.
The drive was long, and the motionless patient drifted in and out of sleep many times before the rumbling of the vehicle engine finally stopped. Doors opened, and there were more voices, but only one could be picked out among the crowd - a voice it hadn’t heard before, "No, I don't need the bed. I'm enhanced; it's no big deal to carry it. I can sign now." More voices. Why was only this one person’s speech clear? The voice was deep, commanding, and more textured than the others. The voice was like velvet to its ears.
The blankets were pulled back, each arm placed delicately over its stomach, and its impotent form was gathered into strong arms, held by the shoulders and behind the knees. The arms were pure muscle, and it felt its body lifted with incredible ease, though its neck did lull limply back a bit. The warm body against its own was exquisite, and it was with deep humiliation that it realized that it was quickly growing hard in the man's arms, in its nakedness there was absolutely no hiding it.
The chest it leaned on shook as that velvet voice let out a deep chuckle, "I see phase 2 was quite successful." More voices and laughter left it feeling mortified and exposed, yet none of this hampered its display. Then, mercifully, the voices faded.
The cool breezy air became temperate and still, and the embarrassingly indecent form was set down onto a soft, textured surface. Its legs were lengthened, its arms still resting on its stomach as it was laid gingerly onto its back. "Alright. Alone. Finally." Footsteps departed, a door creaked closed in the distance, the latch loud, and once the footsteps drew closer once more, the plush textured surface dipped. Fingers lifted an eyelid, "Pretty. The iris looks wild without a pupil. I'm glad I didn't have the eyes removed. Let's see... I should have app control - there."
Its eyes opened, though they remained sightless. There was silence for a long pause. It felt its eyes blink. “Great! So that works. I’m glad - I really like that eye color - I wanted to still be able to see it.”
Its eyes were pretty? It had no recollection of such details. It had no idea what it looked like at all. The realization was strange, disturbing even to know that it had probably gone its entire life looking in a mirror, yet now even the color of its own eyes was a mystery.
"Okay, I should probably get to introductions since 'it' is undoubtedly confused. I am Master, and I have just brought home my new toy. My toy has been programmed to hear ‘Master’ any time I speak my name, and it will only be referred to as 'it' and 'toy' for the rest of its existence. It will never regard itself as anything else. It is an object that I own, a toy designed especially for my pleasure. It has no identity outside of that, and never will.”
The words dripped into the toy’s mind and hooked their way into its consciousness. Such cruel words were terrible, offensive, and frustrating as hell, but it found its mind had no defense against them. There was simply no information present to refute them with. This couldn’t be mere memory. Whoever had done this must have wiped its very sense of self - allowing whatever was said about it to become irrefutable truth, regardless of what it logically might try to tell itself.
"Because I am the toy’s master it understands me, but after phase 2 restructuring, it is not able to understand the speech of anyone else. Phase 2 restructuring also guaranteed responsiveness. In other words, its libido is eternally turned up, always horny, and always ready for its master. It is a toy purchased for its master to fuck, along with anything else I might decide to do with it. There is another element that it may or may not have figured out already, but I'll let that realization hit in due time."
The toy took in the information with terrified wonder. It was a pleasure toy. A... sex toy? An inanimate object to be played with by its master, forcibly eternally aroused. It supposed toys typically didn’t move or see, but this toy was… Logic fought with instinct. This toy was an object, and should be whatever its master wanted. There was a dropping sensation in its chest as the thoughts solidified in its mind. This was its life now. This was its future? What would this man do to it? As the questions roiled through the toy's mind, it felt its waning erection reinvigorate, as if aroused by its own subjugation.
"Phase one was where they took care of the big stuff, movement, vision, memory. There have been a few other alterations, but we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. For now, I want to play with my toy. Understand?"
Was this man truly asking for a response? If the toy could have rolled its eyes, it would have. Instead, it simply stared blankly into nothingness, an object that didn't answer questions.
"I want it to try to respond. Just try. A double blink, a hum, a nod, a twitch, anything. Is there any way for my toy to signal that it hears its master?"
Master clearly knew there wasn't. The toy stared blankly, its annoyance masked by its immobility, but it decided to try anyway. It had moaned when touched. Perhaps it could manage some noise now? It tried to moan, hum, make any noise, or force any breath, but it couldn't seem to do anything voluntary whatsoever. Again, the toy railed against its own stubborn body. It reached its mind out, the method of becoming aware of each muscle, from its toes to its head as it lay prone on the plush surface strangely familiar. Every muscle rejected its command, even its eyes blinking in a mechanical, automated nature, rather than with intention. The experience was pure frustration, yet there was another feeling there - a feeling it didn't want to admit to, not that it mattered. The toy was already hard as a rock, its desperate and begging cock the only rigid part of its body. Curiously it wondered. Not one muscle, right? The toy attempted to twitch its erection, and it felt its dick jump.
The body sitting next to it startled, and shock was evident in Master's voice, "Was that my toy doing that? Do it again."
It tried again, and with gleeful victory it felt its dick move. It did it a second time for emphasis, and its master broke into near hysterical laughter. "That..." Master took a deep breath, having to tone down his mirth to keep speaking, "That was not mentioned in the contract."
Humiliation burned alongside deep amusement, the conflicting emotions just as intensely arousing as everything else managed to be.
"So, I suppose that if I want to communicate, I can, in a way."
It twitched, and was rewarded with the soft sensation of its master’s knuckles traversing up its length. Its breath hitched involuntarily at the contact.
"If I don't want you communicating, I suppose there are solutions for that too, aren't there?"
It felt a pinch at the base of its cock, and lust heavy panic sprang within it.
"How about we set a rule then? My toy is not to communicate unless given permission to -" Master chuckled, "Speak. If I command 'speak' you may use this method to communicate. Otherwise, I will assume any twitching that occurs is involuntary. If I have any reason to suspect otherwise," the pinching sensation bit into the base of its shaft, "punishments may be light to severe. Remember that this is a bug, not a feature, and I will only make use of it under specific circumstances. Does my toy understand? Speak."
Fear gripped the toy as it performed the familiar flex of its dick. God, communicating by twitching its dick. How shameful. How silly. How perfect for an inanimate sex toy. The entire truth of it all was debasing enough. What was one more detail?
"Good. Now, let's get comfortable, shall we?" The dip in the cushion eased, and there was a rustling sound next to the toy. It lasted for several moments, until the drone of a television flicked on. The toy couldn't understand what anyone was saying. It would have been funny if it hadn't been horrifying. The television was useless for the toy, the toy that couldn't see what was happening or understand what characters were saying. It was an abstract drone in the background of its life, little more than street noise and crickets.
When it was picked up again, below the shoulders and knees once more, it felt its master's bare skin against its own. The sensation was exquisite, its flesh alight with the delicious sensations of skin to skin contact. It would do anything to keep this feeling, to feel its master's body against its own.
It felt its master sit back down, causing the toy to rest gingerly in his lap. With his arm still hooked below the toy’s knees, the toy felt its motionless lower limbs lift, its calves and feet brushing heavily over its master’s leg to drop to the other side. Master’s other arm wrapped more fully around his toy’s shoulders, sliding the upper body closer, so that its back leaned against his chest. Once its body was comfortably centered over its master, its left leg was lifted over its master’s left knee, the right leg of the toy lifted over Master’s right. When Master spread his legs, his toy’s legs spread along with them.
This was the most the toy’s body had been manipulated since waking up, and it drew attention to its paralyzed form in a way that laying motionless in a bed simply hadn’t. It felt like a puppet, manipulated this way and that so that it could be played with according to its master’s whims. Fuck. Why was it so hot? It wanted to cry, but it couldn’t, and its body just seemed to filter all of those negative feelings into an endless well of lust.
The toy wasn’t the only one turned on right now.
The hardened cock resting happily beneath its ass was obvious as its body draped over its master. Master’s hips pressed up slightly, letting his cock feel the sensation of his toy’s ass surrounding it, and with a groan of approval he let his hand wander to lazily fondle his new toy’s cock and balls.
After a while, Master stopped fondling the toy altogether and simply watched TV. Though logic dictated that the toy’s lust should have calmed, it felt itself grow needy in its boredom. It wasn’t alone.
As the next show began, Master wrapped an arm around his toy and leaned forward, the sound of something unscrewing, then rescrewing discernable. The backs of Master’s knuckles could be felt behind him, traversing up and down the exterior of its ass before delving into the entrance there with cold, slick purpose. Its master teased, placing one finger into his toy, then two. In this paralyzed state it didn’t take much to prepare the toy. Once Master was satisfied, an impossibly strong arm lifted the toy by the waist, creating just enough space for his cock to press into the slickened opening, testing its readiness. Using his hand for guidance, slowly, delicately, Master entered. The toy felt every inch as it took in the head, followed by its master’s entire exquisite length. A deep groan of satisfaction escaped its master’s lips as it took him to the hilt, the sensation of its master inside him unexpectedly divine. The toy sat motionless in its master's lap, the television droning on with some abstract conversation it had no ability to comprehend.
The sensation of being filled by its master was everything, as if there was nothing greater the toy needed in life. It was absolute, all-encompassing. Master was inside of it. Its back rested comfortably on his chest, its head limply resting on that broad, muscular shoulder. It wanted desperately to grasp its own begging cock while its master fucked it, but it couldn't move. Desperate frustration left it painfully aware of how hard it was. It wanted so badly to be fucked that it wished once more that it could cry. It couldn’t buck its hip or beg. Couldn’t choose to moan or reach for itself. It was an inanimate object, forced to wait for its master to decide to move.
This was the toy's purpose, the toy's reason for being here. This new reality settled into the blank crevices of the toy's altered mind, replacing memory and identity with servitude and lust. Master, his pleasure and his body, was everything. As the man watched tv, and let his toy warm his cock, the sensation of being owned, being an object, being Master's toy, solidified in its mind.
It was a toy.
Just an inanimate object.
A tool to be fucked when Master wanted.
Fuck. It was horny now. Please master. Please, fuck your toy. It's begging you, please. Touch it. Move inside of it. Anything.
It had no way of asking. No way of outwardly begging. That simply wasn't what objects did.
Time stretched his way, the toy lost in its thoughts, mind cycling the same desperate pleas, feeling the same clawing desperation for more, and coming to the same cruel and absolute conclusion. Master would sometimes laugh at the tv, or change the channel. Every slight movement was felt by the toy, offering hope for more.
Eventually, mercifully, Master began to fidget. His hands lazily fondled the toy’s balls, or fingertips slipped down its erection. The movements were simple, light, and nowhere near enough, but they elicited light whimpers either way.
"Shh... toy. I'm watching tv. Don't interrupt." The man knew damn well that the toy had no control over its voice.
He became more intentional, stroking firmly. Little by little his hips began to move, one arm supporting its body firmly by the hips while the other worked the toy's cock. "Keep quiet, toy."
It was impossible. The toy might not have remembered who it had been, or possessed a single memory of its past, but it had a strong feeling that it had never been this desperately turned on in its life. Its voice sang its pleasure, moaning and whimpering no matter how hard it tried to shut itself up. The toy's voice had a mind of its own. Why was that so hot?
Once tired of the slow thrusts that teased his new toy, Master gripped its hips firmly and sped up the motions of his hips considerably. There was no containing the desperate pants and blissful moans as its master fucked it senseless, his dick finally finding its prostate. Pleasure wound its way up up up, until the toy felt it was teetering on a precipice of pure bliss. Even its master made low, lascivious noises as he slammed his hips upward. It wasn’t long before he tensed, hips pressed forward as he unleashed a heavenly moan in his toy's ear. The toy could feel its master's cock twitching and tensing in its ass, pumping his seed into it, until his body fell back in relaxation.
He remained still, panting a while as his body recovered from his release. “That was fun, but a lot of work. Next time I need you to participate a bit more, okay?”
Haha.
Master laid a hand lazily on his toy’s cock, and the toy tensed it in playful response.
“I’m going to pretend that was involuntary, and not a toy being cheeky.”
The toy tensed its cock again, and Master gripped it.
“Oh, I’m going to have fun with this thing.”
He began stroking the toy, gently, almost teasingly at first. Gradually the motions grew quicker, Master gripping its cock with perfect pressure, as if possessing every intention of bringing the toy in his lap to orgasm. The toy couldn't even think, blind pleasure taking over every thought while its voice rang out in incomprehensible moans. Master's toy was a mess, but even when every thought had been chased from its mind, even when Master reinvigorated his own stamina, bucking his hips, slamming into his toy's prostate while his hand gripped its begging cock, even when pleasure felt as if it couldn't possibly get higher, the moment of bliss didn't come. No matter how long, no matter how hard master seemed to try, orgasm never reached the toy. Its balls sat full and begging. Precum dribbled down its cock. Pleasure reached a plateau of mind numbing frustration, and stayed there.
The toy wanted to cry, it needed release so desperately, but when its master tired the game, he simply relaxed, letting his body go still, dick still hard within his toy, "Okay, that's enough for now." When the stimulation stopped, so did the involuntary vocalizations, though it took a while for breathing to normalize.
Though he no longer moved much, the toy’s master hummed in blissful approval, "That was good. This is a fun toy I've bought. I can't wait to play with it even more tomorrow."
Tomorrow?
The toy was beside itself. No. No, no, no. It couldn't be over. It still hadn't come. Frustration clawed at its sanity. Its cock was a mess of dribbling precum, its balls painfully full. Internally, the toy was screaming, but there was nothing to be done. It was helpless, unable to even communicate its needs, much less solve them itself.
As its body slowly calmed, a truth settled in. Nothing in the toy's life was about its pleasure. Nothing about its body was built for the toy's gratification. The toy existed for its master, and its master didn't need it to come, so it couldn't. Its cock twitched involuntarily, the sensation only adding to its desperate frustration.
"Hmm... it seems like you want more. Why don't you help yourself out then?"
A strong, confident hand picked up the toy’s limp arm by the wrist, his other hand brushing from beneath to splay out the toy’s naturally curled fingers. They were gingerly set along its hard length, the same repeated for its other hand. "The toy can pleasure itself tonight."
And so the toy laid there, trapped in the sensation of its begging erection in its own impotent hands, every second aware that it was so close to being able to pleasure itself. So close, and impossibly far. Master and toy sat that way for a long while, the toy's body screaming in silent frustration, its ass filled with its master's cock, its body limp and begging. Meanwhile, its master was relaxed and happy, lazily watching television in the satisfied warmth of his new acquisition.